The Road To Darkness
by The Power Of Deductions
Summary: John is left to try and figure out how to stop from spiralling into depression after his friend, Sherlock, dies. But how will he keep these emotions from breaking him! Author's Note: hey guys, rate and review, this fanfiction may get emotional and dark but thats what makes some fanfics good :) thanks for support
1. Chapter 1

SHERLOCK FANCFICTION

CHAPTER 1 

John stared at his reflection but stared into the ocean deep eyes of his friend, Sherlock. The eyes were piercing as they always were but now they were slowly dimming, the light was growing weak and they were dying. This was John's reality now, an imaginary footstep on the wooden floor or the gentle mutterings coming from a corner that haunted his mind. John gasped for air as he pushed these emotions back into their glass case in his mind. But this glass case was slowly cracking down the middle and John had no way of stopping it.

As John sat rigidly upright in his chair, facing the spot where Sherlock would sit and mutter deductions. And he started to notice the colour red in everything no matter where he looked because it was the exact colour of the blood that had covered the pavements a couple of weeks ago. Wether it was a swirl in the carpet or a small rose on a teacup, John would never get that image out of his mind but the truth was, he was holding onto that last memory of Sherlock that he had. John gasped for air as he realised that this is what his life was coming to, grasping for a thread that would connect Sherlock back to him.

John's days were mundane and monotonous with the occasional break down when he swore that he could hear Sherlock muttering in the corner or hear the solitary but harmonic tunes from the violin sitting near its stand. John's hands tensed around the plate he was washing as he heard laughter on the street below him. "How can they laugh and be happy? Why can't I get over this?" he thought as he forced back tears and continued to wash the remnants off of that nights dinner.

"John, we should go out sometime maybe for a picnic or something. Would you like that?" Mary had been asking these questions day after day for the past couple of weeks but the blank expressions that was returned to her eventually stopped the pleading. John's life was falling apart and he couldn't find happiness in things he had once loved. Going out for coffee and scones with Mary was their idea of a date night but now date nights had stopped and John spent his days alone, blogging and deleting the new posts on his blog, not eating, barely sleeping. Just staring at past experiments of his friends that were never cleared away and never touched. This was John's life and he had no intention of making a change for the better.

The light from street lamps streamed into the dark bedroom where John lay awake. Car alarms went off once or twice every couple of hours and each time it happened the anger inside John's heart grew. "Sherlock is dead and nothing matters anymore, my best friend is dead and no one will care." These thoughts raced through his head and a solitary tear rolled down onto the pillow. "Get yourself together man, you have friends that love you. But do they really love you or is it all an act?" The anger and sorrow hit him like a tidal wave and pinned him down till he couldn't breathe and couldn't move. Days came where he lay in bed and didn't eat, didn't drink, didn't even speak. Where John listened to the sounds outside the window and he could swear he could hear Sherlock moving around in the room beside him. His imagination played these cruel tricks on him day in and day out till one day John reluctantly pushed all of his emotions into a glass case for them to wither and hopefully die. He slowly started to put all of Sherlock's belongings into neat boxes in Sherlock's room while muttering to himself, "Out of sight, out of mind." When he couldn't see any evidence of Sherlock, things might get easier, he might be able to live again.


	2. Chapter 2 - An Edelweiss

CHAPTER 2 – An Edelweiss For Bravery

The glass case was slowly cracking but John kept sandbagging up his emotions. Each day was shorter but darker and there were always storm clouds above his head. His friends had suggested a therapist, a psychologist, a counsellor, but he refused them all. As John walked home from a visit to the old park, he saw Christmas decorations being placed in windows and the smiling faces of boys and girls as they threw baubles at each other and played with tinsel like it was ribbon. "Humbug, Christmas is just a scam for money and only truly important to anyone who is religious," he snarled as the dazzling lights lit up Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had placed a bright wreath on the door off 221B Baker Street and its decorations of mistletoe and baubles almost made him hate Christmas altogether.

John sank into his old chair and closed his eyes as he heard drunken men and women shouting and laughing in nearby streets and houses. He felt empty and alone as he felt himself falling and losing connection with reality as he imagined his friend home and alive again. John jumped out of his chair, ran downstairs and slammed the door behind him. "I can live without his constant nagging and mumbling and I can live without his stupid deductions and cases," he repeated until he found himself stumbling into the graveyard at the back of the church and started to sob as he knelt at his friend's grave. His tears fell onto the green grass and were soaked by the already damp ground. "Oh, come on Sherlock, you stupid idiot. You can't be dead, you're smarter than that and you would never let your pride give in to a fool like Jim Moriarty."

John's black leather shoes sank ever so slightly into the damp earth of the graveyard. The wind was harsh against his cheeks and the icy prickles bombarded his face. John pulled his turtleneck jumper over half his face and gently pulled the small bundle of flowers under his cloak. Although John realised that Sherlock may not think of what his favourite flower was, John researched and realised that since Edelweiss meant daring, nobility and courage, that it would be very fitting for his old friend. The white flowers were just in bloom and their star shaped petals let off a faint scent into the cold dusk air. As he reached the black gravestone, John paused and stiffened as he saw another bouquet of flowers already placed at the foot of the stone. His knees creaked as he bent to examine the paper not attached. There was nothing but a bright red lipstick stain and the small signature of Molly Hooper. Her position now must be one of pure anguish as her heart was constantly ripped from her whenever she had met her love, Sherlock Holmes. John choked back the tears as he realised he was not the only one who admired, hated, and needed this great genius and mastermind.

The dim light from the window pressed its rays onto the wilting flowers on the table and onto the dying condition of the love that once made this room alive with memories, thoughts and ideas. The floorboards creaked as John threw his coat over the backs of one of the dining room chairs and as his hands felt the cold of the fridge handle he paused and imagined the cold spreading through his whole body till he could no longer feel. So he could not feel this pain and this heartache of a loss that could never be healed. His cheeks became damp with the salty tears of suffering and as he walked back through the lounge, John tried remember how many times he had tried to picture Sherlock reprimanding him for not seeing the important things but also giving him the smirk as if to say," Thankyou, John. You are fantastic." The dreams came again that night, the jet-black demons wrapping themselves around Sherlock's writhing body as it fell. The shrieking of the un-dead souls that wrapped Sherlock's body as it made contact with the creamy white pavement at the bottom. The blood, as red as rubies, blocking John's vision and making him awake, sweating and trapped in a twisted mass of sheets. John lay in silent defeat and let the glass case slowly crack and let the emotions and pain that he had locked up slowly flood over him and eventually rock him into a finally dreamless sleep.


	3. Little Bird

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CHAPTER 3 – Little Bird

John woke to the sound of a melody filled with the song of happiness and joy. The song crept along the floor and slid into every crevice, brightening each area that is touched. The petite bird that was perched on the windowsill kept singing its song as John slowly prepared for his day. His eyes were still slightly red and puffy from the vent of emotions from the night before and as he brushed his teeth he realised that he didn't feel as distraught as previous days. The water was cleansing and refreshing as it splashed over John's clean-shaven face and woke the middle-aged man with a new revival. John felt something in his heart that was different but he knew he had felt it before; it was perseverance, he had felt it when he struggled in the war and when he pursued the lady he loved. But this time it was perseverance for a better way of life, John had lived without Sherlock before and he could live without him now.

The room felt brighter and more upbeat as the bacon and eggs proceeded to sizzle on the pan and the smell of a strong coffee wafted in from downstairs. Mrs Hudson was obviously awake and buzzing as usual, had she even missed the man? The little bird silently flew into the room and perched itself on the opposite end of the table to John. He remembered the date and locked it in his memory; as it was New Years Eve he knew he had to get Mary something beautiful as a gift and an apology. His scarf was quickly whipped around his neck as he bounded down the steps from the apartment and as he opened the door and the wind smelt of fresh rain, John Watson did something he hadn't done in a long time. He smiled and with a skip in his step, made his way to the heart of London.

The lights were dazzling and were slightly blinding as he entered back into the public and back into the world of words, emotions, and memories. He wandered through store upon store trying to find the perfect gift and that was when he saw it. An Aquamarine and Micropave Diamond Pendant set in 18K White Gold. The price didn't matter to John as he imagined it resting between Mary's fair and pale collarbones. They matched her eyes perfectly and he just imagined her face as he asked for it to be wrapped in their finest wrapping. That's when he felt something strange, a tingling sensation that ran up his body leaving him in goose bumps and shivering. The hairs on his arms were standing straight as the shivers convulsed and pumped through his spine. It seemed like and eternity until they finished but as he looked back, the man at the counter had only just finished the knot he started apparently a few seconds ago.

His shoes made a clicking sound as he walked along the path to Mary's house and with each puddle he stepped in he became slightly more childish until he found himself practically jumping into the puddles. The night birds started cooing and singing their individual songs as he reached her house and raised the bronze knocker in hesitation. He paused to the sound of laughter and people talking and eventually slammed the knocker against the door. The sound of her heels on the bare wooden floor sent chills up John's spine and as the door opened, tears welled in his eyes. "Mary, please forgive me, I know I have been absolutely horrid to you but please, I need you." That confession left him almost on his knees as he slowly pulled out the box holding the necklace. Her long slender hand rested over his as she exclaimed, "John, I don't need gifts as an apology I just want you to be alright and to be happy." As she wrapped his arms around him, John's cold heart slowly started to warm up and as they stood there, the 9:00 fireworks started and created a myriad of colours splashed across the night sky leaving both of them in awe as if they were children. "Come on, John. We have some aged Shiraz and some snacks. Come get warm." And there in the shadows as John entered the house, a tall and thin man slowly turned up the collar of his long trench coat and as he walked away, his silhouette was that of mystery, of deductions, of pain, of heartache, but John's imagination slowly faded and left.


	4. The Bitter Return

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CHAPTER 4 – The Bitter Return

Life was finally getting perfect after these two years after Sherlock's death. With Mary's fingers gently intertwined through his, they wandered through the park just as sunset was approaching. The birds were silhouettes upon the crimson sky as John slowed down and turned to face the love of his life. "Mary, we haven't known each other for very long, but you are the best thing that has happened to me and …" as John looked into her eyes about to say those final words, a man in black ran into them. "Oi watch it, you could've hurt her." The blue eyes were piercing and slightly familiar but John continued to rant at the man and tell him to just leave. His arms were wrapped protectively around Mary as the man continued to apologise and say, "in parks you meet old friends, maybe an old friend could run into you one day." Almost hinting at something, the man lingered waiting for an answer but john's only response was an icy glare. "John …" the man slowly pulled back the dark hood to reveal loose black curls and, high cheekbones, and the famous trench coat with its collar turned up. Rage coiled and writhed through John along with great pain as he stepped back and clung to Mary for support. His stammers came out rough as they caught in John's throat, "You let me believe you had died … not one … not one call or letter. You … you let me grieve." The sadness was quickly turned into complete rage as Sherlock only smiled and joked.

Sherlock, with blood dripping from his nose, slowly tried to reason and explain to John but John quickly wrestled him to the ground. "NOT ONE CALL, I learnt to survive without you and I built a life. Life has begun to get absolutely perfect and you think that I will be perfectly fine with you coming back and ripping open the wound that has only just healed. How could you do that Sherlock? Actually, no, I don't need or care about you." Sherlock was astonished and in his eyes was sadness and pain about the emotions pouring through John. Sherlock had expected John to hug him and welcome him home, or at least be happy that he was alive. But not one ounce of happiness was lying in John's eyes, only the wrath of a man that had been hurt.

John had lived without Sherlock for so long and now that he was back, he didn't know what to do. He completely ignored the man until Sherlock finally contacted him saying, "John, I need your help on a case, extremely dangerous. SH." John slammed the phone on his table, creating a spider web effect of cracks to slowly spread across the screen. He crumpled onto the floor and as the warm, salty tears trickled down his cheeks he found himself helpless and in complete agony. Although John was determined to rule this man from his life, Sherlock was always going to be a major part of his life. As John reached up for his phone, glass splintering into his thumb, he typed back 'Why don't you get another lab rat to mock.' "NEXT," he shouted as his next patient was ushered into the room with what seemed like a horrendous birthmark covering the better part of his face.

The sky was turning a dark blue as John's shoes clicked on the pavers near 221B Baker Street. Suddenly, a mob of joggers started to make their way around him, jostling him from side to side and as he tried to stay upright, John felt a cold metal rod getting closer to his head. "I'm not with Sherl-." The words didn't leave his lips fast enough and as he sank into a dreamless sleep, the men quickly finished their procedure of placing him, head covered, in the back of a nearby car.

The drips of cold water on the back of John's neck felt slimy and strange. He could feel water lapping at the middle of his calves and as he struggled to move, the strong sailor's ropes slowly cut abrasions into his wrists. His attempts of screaming were futile as he could barely utter a single syllable. His hands gripped his phone and as he attempted to navigate his way by memory he could hear footsteps pacing just through the wall. The water was up to his knees by the time he finally figured out how to call someone, anyone. Thankfully it was Mary and, as he muttered his words as clearly as he could, she said, "I'm getting Sherlock, John." As she hung up, John hung his head to try and lessen the pounding that was echoing through his skull. Tears slid slowly down his cheeks as he thought of the danger that his love was getting her into. Life with Sherlock was of course an adventure but danger was always imminent. His heart was slowly breaking thinking of Mary ever getting hurt while under his protection.

"Sherlock, please you have to help me," Mary cried in anguish to the consulting detective," It's John, he's been kidnapped, and from what I heard there is slowly rising water and he is tied to a post. He said to tell you that he can smell fresh bread and it seems like there is a restaurant nearby. Use your mind palace, Sherlock." Mary was learning quickly for a new acquaintance of Sherlock's. And as his mind flitted through photos and short memory videos that he kept stored away he clicked onto a conversation he had with Mycroft. "Shugrues Restaurant has a wonderful view of the lake, people have heard of a secret basement but its too waterlogged now. Its right underneath the kitchen of the Restaurant." Sherlock grabbed his trench coat, flipped up the collar and raced downstairs while stating, "He's at Shugrue's Restaurant, it takes usually only 8 minutes to get there but we don't have enough time, we need a faster mode of transport than walking."  
"I have my car if you need it." Mary exclaimed as she whipped out her keys and ran to a small black car outside 221B Baker Street.  
They raced along streets as Sherlock calculated distance and estimated time differences with different routes. 'Time is running out, Mr Holmes,' was the next text that Mary got on her phone and she urged Sherlock to drive faster.

The water was rising faster now and as he felt it completely cover his hands and slowly inch up his chest, John struggled to get free from the post. Barnacles slashed through his pants as he writhed, forgetting the pain, only wanting to be free. He thought of Mary sitting at home not knowing what he was doing and not knowing the imminent danger that was upon him. The footsteps outside grew louder and as they paused just beside his ear, John lowered hi breathing but heard nothing. But as he heard swords being unsheathed and the footsteps ominously coming closer he knew was on the road to darkness with Sherlock and nothing good could come from it.


	5. Quick Update

Hey guys so sorry that i haven't posted a new Chapter  
my mind palace is running a bit dry and i would love to have a couple of suggestions messaged to me  
Thanks so much for your support during this story  
You guys are fantabulous

If you could just message me with any ideas that you like  
and if they are put in the story well .. GOOD ON YOU! YOU ARE AWESOME :D 


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